Disclaimer: All right to the Dragon Age series belong to Bioware and, sadly, EA.

Our family… always does our duty first…

Blood streams down his cheek onto the pool he lies on. Under crushed and scalded armor, his breathing turns shallow, and his body remains stiff and still. His bloody hand lies over the bleeding hole in his stomach, while the other lies limp by his side. Glowing icy blue irises dim as darkness enshrouds his vision. He feels himself fall down a black well of oblivion as the faces of those long dead come up to greet him, beckoning him to join them. He allows one final breath, and welcomes peace.

Dante Cousland hated Orlais. From its elaborately decorated halls to its masked nobles as they watched them with hidden scrutiny, he hated Orlais. Yet here he was, walking down the golden halls of the Imperial Palace, with a witch and their son by his side. Their talk with the Empress of Orlais and her elven spymaster had proven fruitful.

"What would you offer me then, O' great Hero of Ferelden?" the silver-haired Empress had said in her long dress of purple silk with large golden roses down the front. Beside her sat her spymaster, a masked elven woman with a nimble figure, and her champion, a blonde square-faced man in ornamented Orlesian armor that befit someone of the royal guard.

Dante had looked at Morrigan, the svelte witch with long black hair and large, mysterious golden eyes. "The witch who had stolen the Hero's heart" was the title the bards had given her in the stories. It was not without its due.

"My knowledge of the arcane," Morrigan had offered. "All that I know will be yours. We only ask for refuge for myself and my son, along with the freedom to learn more."

The deal was made… on one condition.

"In the near future, my Lord Cousland, I will come before you with an offer. You shall remember this moment when you contemplate whether or not to accept it," she had said as she departed.

Now, the three of them walked the halls, a strange sight for the Orlesian nobility. Walking through their golden halls was a Grey Warden in black armor, a witch in velvet rags, and a young boy — whose young eyes wandered from face to face with unearthly understanding. Finally, they reached the room that would be Morrigan's. They opened the door to reveal a grand chamber with royal red curtains draping over the windows, a king-sized bed, and a Vanity dressing table at the side. Other than that, it was mostly empty.

"At least you'll have plenty of room," Dante noted as he tapped his foot against the soft crimson carpet. Morrigan frowned.

"So much space that the Orlesians knew not what to do with, it seems." She dropped her knapsack onto the Vanity table. She pulled out the Eluvian shard, a piece of the portal that Morrigan and Dante had ventured through five years ago. They had crossed into a new world, tranquil and quiet, in complete contrast from the one they left behind. There they had raised their son Kieran, a boy with the soul of an Old God, to fulfill the destiny promised to him: to bring about a new age in Thedas. It was a peaceful set of years, a reward for Dante's sacrifices. A reward for all the pain wrought upon him. A reward for all the blood he shed. Yet that reward had been robbed from him.

It began with the Calling.

Dante had awoken to it, panting and sweating, after the first nightmare he had in years. It was a nightmare of fire and blood, where the sky had been torn asunder by a great war. Where a dragon and a giant did battle, shattering the earth beneath them and sending Thedas up in flames. Where dead gods rose from ancient prisons to lay plunder to the world anew. When Dante awoke, he could hear the first whispers of the Calling, dark whispers piercing the back of his mind like daggers in the dark.

So, Dante left the small cottage that they had built in the middle of the emerald plains they lived on. He looked to the sky, expecting to see the same misty sapphire blue sky he was beginning to grow used to, only to watch as it shattered before his eyes. He and Morrigan had never planned to stay in that world, but they were forced to leave sooner than expected. Maybe it was for the best. Kieran needed to experience the world he was born into, and Dante would have needed to deal with the Calling eventually. Yet, it came too soon, which bothered him.

Kieran stood in front of the window, watching the passersby as they walked in and out of the palace. His face was twisted in horrified confusion. Dante stood next to him and ruffled Kieran's combed hair. He knelt to Kieran's level.

"What do you see, pup?" Dante whispered. He had always been told that his hoarse voice held an aggressive tone to it. Yet, whenever he spoke to Kieran his voice would die down to a gentle whisper.

Kieran shook his head. "They are all blind, Father. They can't see!" Kieran croaked. The sheer horror and dismay in his voice took Dante aback. This was Kieran's first time in the real world and Dante had expected to see more of the boyish excitement he had shown when told of their journey. Yet, there had been no excitement when they arrived, only curiosity and shock. Dante couldn't yet tell if it was a good thing.

"What can't they see, pup?"

"The strings of the Veil. The veins of the Fade," Kieran said innocently. His demeanor grew calmer.

Dante sighed and pressed his forehead against Kieran's. Kieran giggled at the gesture and Dante couldn't help but smile. At the same time, however, he was disturbed. He had never been fully in favor of the Dark Ritual, and Kieran's nightmares and riddles had only served to further that disapproval. There were moments where Kieran was a normal boy and other moments when he was something else entirely.

"I must be leaving then," Dante said and walked over to Morrigan, who had her back turned to him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. Though he couldn't see it, he knew she was smiling. He let his cold black gauntlets trace lines across her exposed stomach.

"You know," he whispered in her ear, "you really should change your attire."

Morrigan's head snapped towards him with a scowl. Morrigan preferred the burgundy garb that hung down her chest, revealing a faint outline of her breasts, with only strings and patches to hold it all together. The feathers that poked out of her robe's shoulders were a representation of herself: dark, free, and proud. Still, however, such scantily-clad attire would not be suited for the royal courts of Orlais.

"We are not having this conversation now…," she fumed. Dante rolled his eyes.

"It would be best. That is if you even want to blend in."

"My choice of attire is of my own choosing, as that is what I am most comfortable with! I refuse to be forced to wear a dress simply to appeal to the opinions of sheep."

"And yet," Dante said as poked her sides, causing her to squirm, "survival is about adaptability, not comfort."

Morrigan paused. "You have been spending far too much time with me."

"Not enough," Dante murmured. Morrigan stroked the stubble on his chin and tried to contain the smile on her face. For a moment, they looked at the scene the mirror portrayed. Of a Warden and a witch, turned cold by the world around them, yet still finding warmth in the other's embrace. She, eventually, slipped from his embrace and walked to Kieran who sat on the bed, yawning. Dante, on the other hand, continued to look at the Warden in the mirror. His hair was a dark brown and was loosely tied back in a long braid. His square face was twisted in a permanent glare and the one long scar that ran diagonally across the bridge of his nose only added to his angry appearance. It was a far cry from the noble boy he had once been.

"Come, little man," Morrigan said as she lay Kieran on the bed, "'tis time for bed."

"And father?" Kieran cried out. Dante walked to Morrigan's side and looked down at his son, only to see Kieran's face in complete dismay.

"Father! Will you be leaving now?"

"No," he wanted to say.

"I will, Pup," Dante said instead, with a false smile of reassurance, "Don't worry. I'll be back soon."

Kieran's hand shot out and grasped his father's. Dante felt Kieran squeeze it and looked at Kieran with wide-eyed confusion… and horror.

"When you see the light father, reach for it! Kalengrad seeks his champion!"

There was a distant booming echo to Kieran's voice, shaking the room around them. Morrigan grabbed Kieran's face and turned it towards her. She looked into his eyes, which seemed to look past her. Dante took Kieran's hand in his and he could feel the tension as the boy clenched his fist. The two of them called out his name, yet there was no response. Dante could hear glass shatter around him and the clattering of a thousand things across the palace. The whispers of the Calling came roaring back at him, leaving him only to grit his teeth as he bore through it. He wanted to scream and pound his head against the wall to get the whispers out, but he couldn't. He couldn't move.

Eventually, the grip on Dante's hand softened and the world began to calm around him, but Kieran's face remained horrified.

"Kieran! What was that?" Morrigan searched Kieran's eyes for an answer as she questioned him.

Dante's own voice came out as a desperate croak. "Kieran. Pup. What light? Who is Kalengrad?" Repeating the name sent shivers down Dante's spine. "What happened?"

"I… don't know." Kieran shook his head slowly, as tears welled up in his wide, brown eyes. His eyes continued to look to the vaulted ceiling for answers. "I don't know."

Dante and Morrigan held him in an embrace as he cried. They remained that way for a long time, ignoring the Orlesians who came pounding on their door. Eventually, Kieran went to sleep, soundly. When Dante and Morrigan opened the door to greet the guards outside, they feinted ignorance at the event. It took a bit of convincing, but eventually, the guards left content. A sigh of relief came out of their mouths as Dante and Morrigan walked out of the room and into the hall. The door to the room closed behind them as they walked out. She leaned against a statue of a nameless chevalier, while he folded his arms.

"The light? Kalengrad? What did he mean?" Dante questioned. Morrigan looked lost.

"I do not know," she said, lost.

"The nightmares. The visions. His powers." He shook his head. "They're getting worse."

"He'll survive," she said stubbornly. Dante glared at her.

"They are taking their toll," he snarled.

"He'll. Survive," she said again, more firmly. However, it wasn't firm enough to be believable and they both knew it. Dante opened his mouth to speak, but Morrigan shot him a sorrowful look.

Let it go, her eyes said. So, he did.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, until Dante rolled back his shoulder. "I should be going, then. The road to Denerim will be harsh and I promised Alistair to meet him within the month."

"Ask the fool if he has learned to knock during his time as king."

Dante laughed. "I'll ask," he promised. Morrigan huffed.

"Perhaps the weight of a crown has finally given him some sense. If not, I fear for the state of Ferelden."

"I'll give him your regards, then."

Dante turned to walk away until he was pulled back. He found himself looking down at Morrigan, their face inches part. She pulled his head down and their lips locked in a long kiss. It was a kiss to kill for and Dante wished nothing better than to lose himself in it. However, there was a sorrowfulness to it, a sense of finality. Finally, they pulled away. Wordlessly, he turned and began his long walk down the hall.

"Don't lose the ring!" she cried out behind him. Dante stopped and turned his head around with a sad smile.

"Never."

With the warmth of Morrigan and Kieran gone, Dante's face had regressed from its bright and smiling state to one of cold stoicism. The plan had been to travel straight to Denerim, over the Frostback Mountains and down the North Road, but Dante wanted to make a stop somewhere. As he traveled, Rex remained by his side, where the mabari hound always was.

Rex whined as Dante scratched the old dog's ear. He grabbed the hound's face and shook it with playful violence.

"Don't worry boy. We'll see them again," Dante assured him. Rex barked with excitement as the snow from the Frostbacks landed on his brown fur, which had traces of grey running down his back. The snow fell on the brown wool cloak that covered Dante's black armor. Unlike most Grey Wardens, his armor had a dragon's skull engraved on the chest piece, with glowing blood red highlights on the dragon's eyes and running around its mouth. The armor was said to have been used by the Warden that slew the Archdemon Dumat, in the First Blight. It was only fitting that it would be used by the Warden that slew the Archdemon Urthemiel, in the Fifth.

Dante and Rex continued their journey as they cut through the Coastlands. On the way, he was met by a Dalish elf and a lost girl, both seeking vengeance on those who had murdered the girl's family. He assisted them in their quest, one he could sympathize with all too well. The encounter served as a reminder of the darkness that still treads Thedas's lands. A reminder of the sacrifices made to get him where he now was. A reminder of the blurred faces of those he killed. A reminder of his duty.

It was then that he remembered a cool night. A camp. A warm campfire behind him and his old companions gathered around it. He remembered Wynne.

"Ultimately, being a Grey Warden is about serving others, about serving all people, whether elves or dwarves or men," she once taught him. They were words he had taken to heart.

She was probably gone by now. The spirit had probably left her, with her purpose fulfilled, and she was dead. Dead with all the others.

Dante became lost in solemn thought as he walked the maze of abandoned mines that led to Soldier's Peak, the secret Grey Warden fortress protected by the cold mountains of the Coastlands. Snow lay scattered across its stone roofs and icicles formed underneath those roofs as the tall towers of the fortress towered over him. The fortress had been the headquarters for the alliance between Orzammar, the Dalish, and the Ferelden monarchy during the Blight. Its existence, however, remained secret to only the Grey Wardens and the Dryden's, the family caretakers. Now, it was Avernus's glorified laboratory and the backup, should anything happen, to Vigil's Keep.

Horrors had been committed in this fortress, so many that some would've said it was haunted. With its eerie atmosphere and stench of death, Soldier's Peak even had demons lurking around the dusty, dark corners of its halls, until Dante liberated it. Inside the castle's towers, Dante and his companions found a remnant of Soldier's Peak's dark past: an old blood mage named Avernus. Somehow, Avernus had prolonged his life through unnatural means and suspended the Calling, all while trying to discover the secret of the Warden's Taint. It took two hundred years until he finally completed his work: a blood potion that served as the key to unlocking the potential power of the Taint. With that potion, Dante drank the blood of the Wardens of old and, in so doing, gained strength, speed, and a willpower that surpassed that of those around him.

Dante told Avernus to continue his research, unrestricted by the chains of morality, and the old blood mage was sent various test subjects from the body of Urthemiel to the body of The Architect. Five years ago, Avernus promised Dante a power that would rival the Old Gods themselves. Now, Dante had returned to verify that claim… and say goodbye to an old ally.

Dante was welcomed by the Drydens' and sent to Avernus's tower, where the old man lay in bed in the dark room of his laboratory. Dante approached from the shadows, eyes glowing in the dark. The old man heard him and cried out.

"Who goes there?" Struggling, he raised his hand and Dante could see sparks of lightning on his fingertips, but the old man's strength failed him and his arm collapsed on the bed.

"It's only I," Dante responded quietly, "Dante."

Avernus nodded, his head still aimed at the stone ceiling. "Ah yes. I remember a Dante. Many in fact. There was a recruit named Dante. There was an acolyte, as well. There was also a Commander. A fine man," Avernus rambled with pale, stale eyes staring blankly at that ceiling. "My finest work."

Dante sat on the bed's side and looked down on the shriveled old man's face, which twisted in worry at the shift in the bed's weight. He looked at Dante, blankly.

"Florian!" he screamed, "Florian! There is a stranger here!" Suddenly his voice turned into a whisper and tears welled up in his eyes. "Sophia? Sophia, is it you? It wasn't my fault…"

Dante watched silently as the old man sobbed until he heard the crackling of fire. Swiftly, he leaned to the left, and the fireball sailed past him and struck the wall. Dante dived to the floor as another ball of fire grazed the top of his hair. As he dived, he drew the dagger at the back of his waist and threw it at his shadowed assailant, whose icy blue eyes glowed in the dark. The mage's loose arm sleeve was caught by the dagger and embedded into the wall behind him. The mage tried to pull his arm out but yelped at the sound of tearing cloth. Dante made his move and, in an instant, got up from the floor and smashed the mage against the wall with his forearm on the mage's throat.

"Wait! I-I'm a Warden! Just like you!" the acolyte squeaked. Dante tightened the pressure on the mage's throat, causing the young man to choke. His eyes bore into the frightened mage's, whose eyes only widened and his lip quiver. Finally, he tore his dagger from the wall, tearing the mage's sleeve, and let him go. The mage dropped to his knees, clutching his throat.

"Point taken…" he choked out.

Meanwhile, Avernus continued to whisper apologies to the dead into the dim moonlight that shined through the open window. Dante returned to his side, leaving the coughing mage on the floor. Avernus, again, looked upon Dante's face with tears streaming down his face.

"My dear friends… I am so, so sorry…"

"They're gone, Avernus. It's only me: Dante, the Warden-Commander."

The young acolyte gasped behind him, but Dante ignored him. Avernus squinted his eyes at him, recognition flickering across his face. He stretched his hands and touched Dante's face.

"Ah yes," Avernus muttered, "My life's work." He grabbed Dante's face with both of his hands, a wide smile on his face. "So, you have returned?"

Dante nodded slightly. The blind man's shaking hands continued to explore Dante's face, until Dante grabbed them by the wrist. "I have."

The old mage nodded his head and hummed in understanding. "It seems your journey is not yet complete, is it?"

"No."

Avernus let out a dry laugh. "And you thought differently, didn't you? You thought you could rest?"

Dante's jaw clenched. "The Fifth Blight is over. The Darkspawn routed."

"Yet, here you are. A funny thing, isn't it?" Avernus grinned at Dante's silence and then fell into a coughing fit. The acolyte rushed to his side, frantically searching through the knapsack on his waist. Dante could hear the glass of a dozen vials clink inside the mage's bag as he searched. Finally, the boy pulled out a small vial and gave it a little shake. The green liquid sloshed around the inside of the vial. He popped open the cap and let it hover over Avernus's lips.

"Avernus. It's the medicine. Hold still," the mage said softly. Avernus held back his coughs long enough for the boy to pour the medicine into Avernus's mouth, who gulped it down with difficulty. After a few short coughs, Avernus calmed down and patted the boy's hand.

"Thank you," he whispered hoarsely and turned back to the silent Dante. "Why have you come, Dante? Surely not to see me in my last moments? No, you are far too cold for that. So, why? Is it my Archdemon Elixir?

"That's one reason," Dante confessed. "Where is it?"

"You can't have it."

Dante raised an eyebrow. "What?" he said. Avernus had never been one to object to the use of his projects, yet he continued to shake his head stubbornly.

"I will not allow it."

"Why?"

Avernus turned his head towards Dante. Their eyes met and, for a moment, the old man seemed to see Dante. "The elixir will destroy you. It makes monsters out of men. I have seen it happen. I've done the experiments."

"What kind of monsters?" Dante asked.

"The potions that you have already drunk caused some changes in appearance. Whenever its abilities are used, your veins darken and your eyes turn a violent shade of crimson. The biggest side effect was the incessant bleeding, but with the Old God blood…," he stopped in careful contemplation.

"The Old God blood is similar to dragon blood. It grants supernatural abilities that transcends anything I had thought possible. Yet, from my tests, it turns the body into a more… bestial nature. Skin turns to scales. Horns develop. Teeth sharpen. That does not include the blood loss, as well." Avernus began to breathe heavily from the long explanation. Finally, he caught his breath and continued, "So no, you can not have it."

Dante shook his head in annoyance. "And? It could simply serve as a final option. Avernus, this may be your finest work yet. If it as powerful as you say, the consequences will be worth it if the fate of the world rests in our hands."

Avernus let out another scoff. "Is your quest so dire that the 'fate of the world' is at stake?"

"It may and it may not. It depends on how you answer my questions."

"Pertaining to what?"

"The Calling."

Avernus let out a dry, humorless laugh. "The Calling? My secret of overcoming it? Oh boy, you know not of what you seek." Suddenly, Avernus gained a horrified look as his stale eyes widened and brow furrowed. "I sacrificed so many," Avernus continued, "for only a few years."

"Necessary sacrifices. For the greater good," Dante comforted. Avernus shook his head fervently.

"What greater good?" he spat, "What have I achieved with those two hundred years? The end of a Blight… or a few seconds of peace? I have given so much… and gained so little." Avernus began to mutter apologies, again. An apology for not saving those he had sworn to save. An apology for sacrificing those who needed not be sacrificed.

Dante frowned. "We Wardens must do whatever is necessary," he said.

Avernus scoffed again. "I told myself that. That what I did, I did for the greater good. That morality was a prison, meant only for the shortsighted. No. I needed not justify my actions to myself, because, in the end, I always knew the truth. That I was wrong."

"The methods didn't matter. They never mattered. Good can still be made from your work, Avernus. Tell me how to cure the Calling. Tell me how to save my life and the lives of others," Dante pleaded. Sorrow seeped into Dante's voice, one long kept hoarse, monotone, and violent.

Avernus became lost in nightmares. "The ichor of the Titans. The blood of the Old Gods. The sacrifice of the Scaled. The curse of the Forgotten. The deal with the Formless," he muttered in a trance, "Ichor of the Titans. Blood of the Old Gods. Sacrifice of the Scaled. Curse of the Forgotten. Deal with the Formless."

Dante sighed as Avernus rambled on. His mind is lost, Dante thought with a mournful shake of the head. He got up and began to walk out, past the acolyte whose mouth lay agape at the sight of him. He opened the door of the tower and a cold wind blew past him as he departed. The bridge that connected the tower to the main castle was covered in foot's deep snow, so Dante drudged through it. The acolyte, who had been left open-mouthed in awe, ran after him.

"Dante!" he cried. Dante turned around and looked at the young man's narrow face, which had a few strands of honey brown hair hanging over his forehead. Besides that, his hair was combed nicely. The stubble on his chin led him to the appearance of a boy trying desperately to look the part of a man. Still, he looks familiar, Dante mused.

The acolyte tried to catch his breath for a moment before he began to speak. "You," he began in between breaths, "probably don't remember me."

Dante remained silent and regarded the skinny mage with cold eyes. The mage introduced himself, "I'm Finn. We… uh… had a little adventure, a few years back. You, me, your dog, and Arianne. You remember her, right? Dalish elf? Cute? No? Yes?" Finn rambled.

Dante made an annoyed groan. The boy liked to hear himself talk, which he continued to do

"We were looking for Eluvians! There was something about a hot witch… I think? Anyway, we were going through ancient elven ruins and dwarven thaigs and haunted marshes and fighting Darkspawn and—"

"Yes, yes!" Dante said with a wave of his hand, "I remember. You were the Circle mage with too much time on his hands."

The insult must've gone over his head because his eyes lit up and his smile widened. "So you do remember me!"

Dante rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"Can I come?" he blurted out. Dante frowned and eyed Finn with suspicion.

"What…?"

Finn chuckled and facepalmed. He took a deep breath, before looking back at Dante. "It's just… you're going… somewhere, and I wanna come too!"

Dante let out a heavy sigh. "Boy, you have no idea what you're asking."

"But I do!' he said giddily. He shook with excitement as he talked. "You're gonna be going to more ancient elven ruins and thaigs and all that good stuff! Do you have any idea what I could find in those places?"

"A sword through the chest?"

"The amount of lore I could learn would be totally worth it!"

Dante wanted to smack the boy for being foolish. This was what the new generation of Grey Wardens had to offer? It was simultaneously disappointing and disturbing. Although, he could prove useful.

Dante pointed behind Finn, towards Avernus's Tower. "I thought you were taking care of him."

"I am, but Avernus is going to die soon," Finn stopped and thought on his words. "Wow. That just makes me sound like an asshole."

Dante's nose wrinkled in disgust. "It does, doesn't it?" he retorted, then turned and walked away.

"Wait!" Finn called out behind him. "I'll just report to Vigil's Keep! That's where you're going, right? I'll just tell them my plans! They'll send someone else, won't they?"

Dante ignored him and continued walking. By the time that he reached the door to the main castle, he heard what he had wanted to hear.

"I'll give you the Archdemon Elixir if you let me come!"

Dante stopped. His mouth twisted into a smirk. He turned his head slightly to the anxious blood mage.

"Show me."

And so begins this story. The overall story will stretch from before 'Inquisition' to shortly after the events of 'Trespasser.' These moments specifically occurs around the end of Dragon Age II. If any of you have any feedback and/or questions about the story, then feel free to ask. This is probably the most ambitious thing I've ever written and when mixed in with the stress of my 'real' life, I think it's safe to assume that I need all the help I can get. Hope you enjoy!